


The Blacklist: Rewritten

by mylifemyheart



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Drama, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Liz whump, Possessive/Protective Red, Romance, Sensible Liz
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-28
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-07-03 18:13:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15824268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mylifemyheart/pseuds/mylifemyheart
Summary: Rewriting the show from season one for the sole purpose of giving birth to Lizzington.





	1. Chapter 1

Despite the title/summary, I'm not rewriting EVERYTHING. In fact, most of the lines you see here will be the exact same (or similar enough) as the ones you've heard on the show. And though I most likely will NOT rewrite every ep (because that would be way too many + a lot just aren't necessary for this fic) I WILL be going in chronological order. And, as I've said in the summary, I am writing this fic for Lizzington, which means everything that could've gone wrong on the show (AKA all the close calls Liz had but always managed to escape mostly unscathed from) will definitely go wrong here - just so Red can save the day and Lizzington can develop how I want it to.

To get a better understanding of what I'm talking about, feel free to check out my other (only) fic on here, titled "Ruin".

Also feel free to comment anything you specifically want to see! I can't promise that I will do exactly as you wish, but I CAN promise to consider it! And who knows - you might be thinking the exact same things I am!


	2. Pilot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone has very very kindly notified me of a fic (Foundational Elements) very similar to the one I wish to write here, so thank you again for letting me know, Kate! As I've told her, I will definitely be checking it out (probably very very excitedly)! I do plan on continuing this fic, however, as every fic I write really is mostly just for me and my enjoyment (of course, I love when other readers come along for the ride). I sincerely hope I don't step on any toes or offend the writer or readers of the aforementioned fic, as that truly is NOT my intention. Again, these fics are just a way for my lizzington feels to come to life, which I'm sure you guys can understand (otherwise you probably wouldn't be reading fanfic) :)

"Do you find it odd Reddington surrendered himself the day you started working as a profiler?" AD Harold Cooper asked the young woman sitting across from him, the question undoubtedly rhetoric, yet falling just short of accusing.

Elizabeth Keen answered anyway. "I think that it suggests he was waiting for me." 

_If only she knew just how long..._

"Why you? Specifically." 

"Because I'm new and he thinks I can be easily manipulated." Her tone was neutral, her chin was raised, and her shoulders stiff. She had nothing to hide. "The man obviously doesn't know me very well." 

On the contrary, the man knew her all _too_ well.

_Even better than she knew herself._

* * *

A loud beeping alarm filled the space of the room as Liz took her time walking down the steps. She was secretly grateful for the shrill noise, for it would ensure no one could hear the erratic drum in her chest. All too soon, though, it stopped - just as she came to a stop before the man who had - for a reason only God knows - summoned her. In a desperate attempt to get her nerves in order, she made sure her movements were deliberate and calculated. Taking a seat on the flimsy metal chair, she crossed one leg over the other and folded her hands daintily in her lap.

Then she met his eyes.

They were a fascinating shade - one she would have to inspect from up close to really discern and assess. But from here, even beneath the dreadfully cold lighting, the flinty green - that's what she settled with for now - appeared almost warm as they gazed at her. He was barely even blinking, as if he was just as entranced, just as  _fascinated_ with her as she was him...

* * *

 

She was fascinating.

He almost couldn't believe it. 

The last time he had been this close to her, she had been a mere four years old. A painfully innocent and tragically traumatized little girl. A child - that's what she had been. But here, right now, he could clearly see that she was nothing less than a stunningly beautiful woman. Of course, he had consistently received reports regarding her and her life, with some being quite significant - her marriage, for one - and others more mundane: new hobbies, favorite restaurants, academic progress, career moves... And with those reports, he had received photographs. So, he had thought himself prepared.

And in a way, he was.

Her skin was still a smooth porcelain, her bone structure strong yet feminine. Even with the boring pantsuit covering her subtle curves, he knew her body was lithe and toned, carved like the rest of her features to be sensually alluring. The ends of her hair just barely grazed her collar bones, and the sudden urge to stroke her silky tresses caused his fingers to twitch, reminding him of his currently chained predicament. She got rid of her highlights, he noticed, and though he had no doubt she could pull off any shade or color - whether from a drugstore dye or a professional salon treatment - he thought the darker tones of her natural brunette hair perfectly complimented her pretty blue orbs... Speaking of, the sapphires of her eyes were still as deep and bright as he remembered, and yet, there was something obviously different about them. Whereas before, they had held the nostalgic notes of a spring creek flowing and glistening beneath the warm rays of a clear sky, now they held the complexity of an entire ocean: mysterious, volatile, both serene and chaotic, powerful yet vulnerable... Now, they held so much more.

Just like  _she_ was so much more.

He almost felt cheated in that moment, gazing at her charming attempt of a poker face, for he realized with startling clarity that the photos had not done her beauty a single iota of justice. To be fair, he couldn't exactly blame the camera nor the person who had handled it, as he knew that some things just couldn't be captured, not completely, not in their full essence and magnitude of spectacular magnificence.

And Elizabeth Keen was most definitely  _something_... 

"Agent Keen, what a pleasure."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so it begins...  
> Hope you enjoyed!


	3. Pilot B

"Well, I'm here."

"You got rid of your highlights. You look much less... Baltimore. Do you get back home much?"

"Tell me about Zamani."

"I haven't been home in years."

Did he even have a home anymore? He had, once, long ago - before things had become... complicated. Before he had gotten caught in a web of corruption. Before he had been thrust into a game of deceit and betrayal. Before the flames of Fate's inferno had burned him, burned _her_. Before he had been forced to stop playing house. Before the little girl he had once saved became the one woman who could save  _him_. 

Looking at that girl - this  _woman_ \- now, he thought, perhaps, he did have a home. 

_She was his way home._

* * *

"Where's the girl? It's been four hours. Your people haven't made any demands."

"My people?" Red quirked a brow. "I told you Zamani would take the girl. I told you that's all I knew. This is in your hands now."

"I need your help with Zamani," Liz admitted quietly, her shoulders sagging with defeat and exhaustion as she allowed the stress of the day and the tension of her inner turmoil to leave her body for just a moment.  _Stay calm, get him to talk,_ she told herself. The life of a little girl - a sweet, innocent little girl who had given Liz her adorably beaded bracelet - whom she had promised to get back, was on the line.  

"How about a trade? You tell me and I'll tell you. Tell me about the scar on your palm." Red nodded, purposely keeping his tone light and casual. "I've noticed how you... stroke it."

After a brief hesitation, she answered, "There was a fire. I was fourteen." She kept her face blank, determined to keep him from seeing through her lie. If she were being honest with herself, she knew her efforts were probably fruitless, as Reddington didn't just look at her - he looked  _through_ her.  _He saw her_. But she was stubborn like that. He knew too much about her already, making her feel vulnerable and exposed. So, she needed to keep as much as she could to herself. She needed to make herself believe that she was at least on even ground with him - this man who was nothing short of a walking enigma in a three-piece suit - if not have the upper hand. 

Surprisingly, he didn't call her out on it. Instead, he said, "Someone tried to hurt you." 

It was more of a prodding statement than an actual question, but she replied anyway. "Not exactly, no."

"May I see it?" He tilted his head and jerked his chin toward her scarred wrist. After a moment that felt like an eternity, he glanced away and caught her wary eyes. "Is a child really what you want?"

"How on earth-"

"But a baby won't fix what happened in the past."

"You lost the right to speak about parenthood when you abandoned your wife and daughter on Christmas Eve," she snapped, her voice filled with venom. Immediately, she regretted her words - and she didn't know why. What she said was true. And she shouldn't feel bad for throwing his sins in his face.  _She shouldn't_ -  _so why did she?_ Ignoring the pang of guilt in her chest, she changed the subject. "The girl."

To his credit, he didn't react to her jab. He kept his face an unreadable mask, and played along with her deflection. "You won't find the girl until you learn to look at this differently."

"And how should I look at this?"

"Like a criminal. May come easier than you think." He couldn't help making a jab of his own. "Shall I show you?"

* * *

"Did you send him? Are you the one who did this?" Liz demanded, barging into the room in a flit of rage. 

Red noticed she was shaking, her body vibrating with adrenaline. "Did what?" he asked, tone neutral.

"He was in my house! My husband is on a ventilator because Zamani came-"

"Calm down and tell me what happened."

"Don’t play stupid. You’re the only thing connecting us." Expelling a trembling breath, her next words were almost a whisper. "He told me that you’re obsessed with me."

_Well, at least she wasn't screaming at him anymore._

Ignoring that last tidbit of information - which felt more like an accusation - he tried to lead her back to a more easy topic of conversation. "Did he mention the girl of the bomb?"

She didn't make it easy for him.

"We're not a team."

"Zamani."

"I’m not your partner."

"What did he say?"

_Besides his apparent obsession with her -_ which, Red knew, Zamani hadn't exactly been wrong about. 

"I don't know! He said," she huffed loudly, flinging her arms out in frustration, "he said something about casualties and chemical agents, and he talked about you. He even thanked me for getting rid of the Chemist."  
  
**"** So the bomb’s still in play."

"Why the hell was he in my house?! Tell me! You know him! Why is my husband dying in a hospital right now?!"

"The truth is, despite your feelings, your husband doesn’t matter. Zamani did you a favor, Lizzy."

She didn't like that he was so calm. How could she? How could  _he?_ In the span of a day, her world had been turned upside down, and her husband was fighting for what little life he currently had, of what little that had not bled out, staining their wooden floorboards. She was so angry, so scared, so confused, because although Reddington may have sent Zamani to invade her house and butcher her husband, Tom was in this mess because of  _her._ Because of whatever connection she might have with number four on the FBI's Most Wanted. 

Before she even really knew what she was doing, she grabbed a pen from the table and stabbed it into the side of his neck, holding it there with a firm grip even as she felt blood trickling out. "Now, you know I just punched a hole in your carotid. Best chance, one minute before you pass out. So here’s how it’s gonna work." Her voice was so low and cold, she almost couldn't recognize herself. "You tell me how I find Zamani and make this right, or I let you die right here. Understand?"

"Yeah," he rasped, that one word coming out in a gritty hush. "But if I die... you’ll never know the truth about your husband."

She knew it was a taunt. _She knew_. And yet, it worked. "You know nothing about my husband," she hissed with denial, yanking out the pen as swiftly as she had stabbed him.

If only she knew. 

* * *

She didn't know why she - actually, she knew exactly why she was here, at his cell, burning with the need to talk to him, to get the answers to the questions that were threatening to tear her apart. 

_Trap door, wooden box, cash, passports and a gun._

_What did they all mean?_

"You’ve discovered something curious about your husband, haven’t you, Lizzy?"

Whatever it meant, she was determined to find out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I actually haven't changed anything to the plot yet - just introspection so far, but I really wanted to introduce you to their inner thoughts about themselves and each other first!


	4. The Stewmaker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Liz gets a little more roughed up than she does on the show, and it's Red - not Ressler - that comforts her.

"What did you know about the transport attack? How did he know where to strike? I swear to God, if you had anything to do with-"

Donald was testing what little patience he currently had, so, cheek twitching in irritation, Red cut him off before the urge to strangle him became too much to resist. "What you’re forgetting is we want the same thing, Agent Ressler," he snapped. 

"Why would he kidnap Agent Keen? What’s his play here?" Cooper asked, more to act as buffer than anything else.

Sensing that, Red ignored the first part of Harold's question. "I have a contract with Lorca to personally hand him a new identity."

"That’s never gonna happen," Ressler huffed.

"Your witness is dead, you lost Lorca, and he took Agent Keen. I’d say my meeting with Lorca might be the equivalent of you falling on your ass and landing in a pile of Christmas."

Fortunately, Cooper knew better than the scowling boy scout. "We’ll need time to set up a sting."

"He’s been evading capture for years. He’ll be more on guard than ever. Any change of plans, and we’ll lose him. I meet with Lorca alone."

"An FBI agent’s life is in jeopardy," Ressler said, as if everyone in the room didn't know that already. 

_But Elizabeth is so much more than just an FBI agent._

"There’s no bargaining here. When confronting complex equations, the simplest solution is most often the correct one. You lost her. I can find her. It’s that simple."

It really was that simple - because as far as Red was concerned, there was no other option.

 _He **would**_ _find her._

"I’m coming with you."

Red shook his head impatiently, determined not to waste any more time than they already have. "Then understand I take no responsibility for your safety. And the FBI backs off. No surveillance, no wires, or you can find what’s left of Agent Keen yourselves."

He hoped to God it wouldn't come to that. 

***

It hurts to run.

It hurts to move.

It hurts to  _breathe_.

And yet she doesn't stop - she  _can't_ \- even as she feels the lead spreading through her limbs, slowly but surely weighing down her attempts of escape, of survival. Liz knows it's only a matter of time before the paralysis takes over completely, but she won't just sit and wait for it to happen. Twigs break and leaves crunch as she pumps her legs, her feet digging into dirt and sinking into mud. It's during the latter that she loses her right boot, which then causes her to also lose her balance. Her ankle rolls before her body follows, and she tumbles downhill before crashing into a tree trunk. Unfortunately, her ribs brace most of the impact, and she's almost certain she hears one crack. She tries to silence her wheezing breaths, even though her lungs burn, even though her pounding heart refuses to calm. 

Then... It's no longer her own panting breaths she's hearing.

 _The dog._  

And looming over her crumpled form like none other than Death itself, Kornish stares at her for just a moment - just long enough for her to see him hunch down and swing his arm.

The last thing she feels is the side of her head smacking into the tree trunk.

***

His voice is the first thing she hears.

"... get started? A farmer comes home one day to find that everything that gives meaning to his life is gone. Crops are burned, animals slaughtered, bodies and broken pieces of his life strewn about. Everything that he loved, taken from him. His children. One can only imagine the pit of despair, the hours of Job–like lamentations, the burden of existence. He makes a promise to himself in those dark hours. A life’s work erupts from his knotted mind. Years go by. His suffering becomes complicated. One day he stops. The farmer, who is no longer a farmer sees the wreckage he’s left in his wake. It is now he who burns. It is he who slaughters. And he knows, in his heart, he must pay. Doesn’t he, Stanley?"

His words, the way he speaks, it's... chilling. Is this just another one of his many stories? Or is it more? Is it  _his_? Does he know she's awake? She wants to say something, anything, maybe tell him to not kill the man who very nearly killed her, but she can't. 

_Or is it that she won't?_

"But maybe - just  _maybe_ \- he could change," he continues. "Maybe he’s not damaged beyond repair. Maybe he could make amends to all those that he’s hurt so terribly... _Or maybe not._ "

A rustle of clothing as he abruptly moves.

A startled gasp that suffocates before it can evolve into a scream.

An eerie splash that speaks volumes even in the short, stark silence that follows. 

Liz doesn't have to open her eyes to know what just happened.

_That's the second life - that she knows of - that Reddington took to save hers._

And yet, when footsteps sound and stop right in front of her, that's exactly what she does. 

He's crouched ever so slightly, and he smiles a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes - eyes than scan her from head to toe, eyes that narrow the more damage he finds, eyes that both burn with intensity and simmers with weariness as they finally meet her own heavy-lidded ones. 

 _Red_.

She doesn't think she meant to say his name aloud. 

"Hello, Lizzie. The effects will dissipate soon. You're gonna be fine."

She doesn't know what to say, doesn't know what to think. She's not sure how she feels about Dembe carrying her - surprisingly gently - toward the black Mercedes, but she doesn't have the energy - nor the will - to protest. Their short trek isn't as smooth as she would have preferred, though. 

The throbbing in her head becomes too much, and suddenly, she finds herself kneeling on the ground, ignoring the sharp pain in her palms and knees as she vomits acid. The dry heaves that follow only aggravate the ache in her ribs, so she tries to calm her breaths as best she can, but it's impossible. She lifts one hand to her throat and another to her chest as panic seizes her. The  _thump, thump, thump_ in her ears is deafening, and so it takes a while for her to hear him. 

But then he's there, holding her in his arms, cradling her to his warm, solid chest and stroking her tangled hair as he brushes words against her swollen - and probably bleeding - temple, stamps them into her forehead. 

_You're safe, Lizzie. You're safe._

A small part of her knows that she should push him away. He's a criminal, after all. The FBI's Fourth Most Wanted. A murderer. 

_A monster._

And yet... He's a monster that killed  _for her_.

A monster that  _saved_   _her_.

And so she can't help but melt against him, can't help but greedily accept his comfort, can't help but feel safe in his embrace. 

She doesn't realize she's crying - or that she cried at all - until she recognizes the wetness on the skin of his neck, the front of his shirt. But she can't find it in her to feel embarrassed - maybe later, but not now. Digging her fingers into his arms, his chest, she tilts her face up to meet his concerned one. 

"You came for me," she says, voice small and hoarse. 

The corner of his lips curve just slightly, and he stares down at her with an expression she's unsure of how to decipher... Awe? Wonder? A touch of sadness and ironic despair? After a moment that could have been seconds or hours, he speaks, his own voice low and rough, rumbling from his chest and vibrating through hers. 

"Always, Lizzie." 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while (a very long while) since I updated, but life, as it tends to do, has been keeping me quite busy... But I wanted to let you guys know that this fic's unintentional hiatus will not be a permanent one! Hope you enjoyed! :)


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